Two important things:
First of all, may arms and legs appear to be covered with flea bites. Which is disturbing.
Secondly, some clowns have been setting on bombs on crowded tube trains here in London.
Which sucks. I really don't like bombings on people.
My ideal kind of terrorism is the cultural kind, the type that shocks and disturbs people without having to have anyone carried to a hospital on a table.
If it turns out that this was the work of Suicide Bombers I will be especially annoyed.
Annoyed because a) Suicide Bombing is the hardest to guard against, pushing everyone into an upswards spiral of paranoia and b) it is the ultimate waste of life: seriously, I can't think of one good thing that a Suicide bombing achieves. The whatever political goals that might have been championed have been washed away by a bloodbath. And retaliation is inevitable, leading to stupid tit-for-tat bullshit.
Where I come from Martyrs and Murderers aren't the same thing. Where I come from Holy men don't carry guns.
On a lighter note, I'm finding and refinding some great online comics.
Nothing Nice to say in particular (www.nothingnice.com) is good to see back up.
I never thought that I would see it again, since I remember it ending about two years ago, the creator seeming to sink deeper and deeper into a state of clinical depression, so much so that I actually e-mailed him and told him that I was a big fan and I hoped he wasn't going to do anything stupid.
This was soon after my friend Clayton died (suicide or prescription medication overdose unclear).
If Clayton had just died, then I was still at UQ, trying to keep it together as a BA student again, behind in my readings, falling asleep when I tried to read my texts, not making enough time to go to the library, not making time to write my assignments and the like.
I sometimes wonder how much of my under-achieving comes down to my depression. Being down all the time makes it hard to get anything done, and when I do actually feel better, it seems like such a waste to actually spend this up-mood time doing something as mundane as study etc.
I'm sure that there is some deep glitch in there that if I could find it and fix it I'd be much better for it. Some malfunction in the sense of Reward and Satisfaction that seems to elude me when I actually do something that could be construed as constructive. Some conditioning I received in High School that taught me that working hard on something was a waste of time, you won't get what you want. Or a subtle chemical imbalance that stops me from feeling happy when I finish something. Not as happy as I should.
I remember in being in grade 12, finishing my exams and thinking to myself, 'I should be feeling great, I should be celebrating', but instead feeling empty and burned out. Or maybe that was the year after Grade 12.
Either way, I wanted to do something fun, I had time to do something I had been putting off, but it was too late to see a movie, I was too tense and tired to sleep and all I could feel was a coiling anger at something I couldn't name.
Hmm.
Speaking of Anger, every now and again I feel like tracking down my grade five teacher, the one that told me off about my handwriting until made me cry in front of the class, and punching him square in the nose. Then track down my grade 4 teacher, the one who had me writing lines every lunch hour for a week because I couldn't finish the fifty line he had served me with in one lunch hour. The one who accused me of stopping in the middle of writing them.
I'm sure I can think of other teachers who raise my bile, but those are the two that always spring to mind.
It does worry me that I carry so much anger over stuff that happened twenty years ago. I'm not angry at the boys that bullied me, even though it's more likely that they did more damage. I've sat down and talked to some of them.
No, the anger I carry is at the Authority figures that blocked me, misguided me, lied to me, made me miserable.
Anger is annoying. Ultimately there really isn't much positive use for anger, at least not my kind. The best thing you can do with it is go into some kind of Buddhist Let The Bad Karma Go Rise Above kind of thing.
And let's face it, that's just not as much fun as breaking something, or even just seething until you can feel the rage in the pit of your stomach burning a hole through your abdominal wall.
Nope, all that Anger really does is fill me full of tension and spite, until the sense of power fades away and simmers down to a sense of sadness at not being able to change the thing that made you angry in the first place.
I would love to track down the Maths Teacher I had in grade 12, the one who's dog attacked me, and scream at him about what a pathetic excuse for a teacher he is. And the Maths teacher I had before that in Grade 11, and before that in Grade 10, and before that in Grade 9, and I think I had the same teacher in Grade 8, so it would just be more screaming.
I would like to tell my IT teacher in grade 11 and 12 that not only were his classes unhelpful to my aspirations, they left a student who had previously been mad on Computer Technology and programming who dreamed of a career in the Games Industry so traumatised that I didn't want to touch a computer again for two years after school.
The same teacher was able to, in part at least, facilitate my youngest brother Angus' ascension to his current career. Maybe in the seven years between me and Gus the Fucker got it right.
But the thing that really makes me angry is this:
I left school over ten years ago. I'm no longer at the mercy of the soul-crushing teachers I had in the past.
Sure, I've had to deal with a string of bad relationships, a rough home-life, dealing with psychos on a near daily basis for 27 years, people never really understanding what I'm about and feeling like a square peg in a round hole whereever I go, but that's might just be background noise.
In truth the only thing that really holds me back now is me.
More fun tomorrow.
J
Secondly, some clowns have been setting on bombs on crowded tube trains here in London.
Which sucks. I really don't like bombings on people.
My ideal kind of terrorism is the cultural kind, the type that shocks and disturbs people without having to have anyone carried to a hospital on a table.
If it turns out that this was the work of Suicide Bombers I will be especially annoyed.
Annoyed because a) Suicide Bombing is the hardest to guard against, pushing everyone into an upswards spiral of paranoia and b) it is the ultimate waste of life: seriously, I can't think of one good thing that a Suicide bombing achieves. The whatever political goals that might have been championed have been washed away by a bloodbath. And retaliation is inevitable, leading to stupid tit-for-tat bullshit.
Where I come from Martyrs and Murderers aren't the same thing. Where I come from Holy men don't carry guns.
On a lighter note, I'm finding and refinding some great online comics.
Nothing Nice to say in particular (www.nothingnice.com) is good to see back up.
I never thought that I would see it again, since I remember it ending about two years ago, the creator seeming to sink deeper and deeper into a state of clinical depression, so much so that I actually e-mailed him and told him that I was a big fan and I hoped he wasn't going to do anything stupid.
This was soon after my friend Clayton died (suicide or prescription medication overdose unclear).
If Clayton had just died, then I was still at UQ, trying to keep it together as a BA student again, behind in my readings, falling asleep when I tried to read my texts, not making enough time to go to the library, not making time to write my assignments and the like.
I sometimes wonder how much of my under-achieving comes down to my depression. Being down all the time makes it hard to get anything done, and when I do actually feel better, it seems like such a waste to actually spend this up-mood time doing something as mundane as study etc.
I'm sure that there is some deep glitch in there that if I could find it and fix it I'd be much better for it. Some malfunction in the sense of Reward and Satisfaction that seems to elude me when I actually do something that could be construed as constructive. Some conditioning I received in High School that taught me that working hard on something was a waste of time, you won't get what you want. Or a subtle chemical imbalance that stops me from feeling happy when I finish something. Not as happy as I should.
I remember in being in grade 12, finishing my exams and thinking to myself, 'I should be feeling great, I should be celebrating', but instead feeling empty and burned out. Or maybe that was the year after Grade 12.
Either way, I wanted to do something fun, I had time to do something I had been putting off, but it was too late to see a movie, I was too tense and tired to sleep and all I could feel was a coiling anger at something I couldn't name.
Hmm.
Speaking of Anger, every now and again I feel like tracking down my grade five teacher, the one that told me off about my handwriting until made me cry in front of the class, and punching him square in the nose. Then track down my grade 4 teacher, the one who had me writing lines every lunch hour for a week because I couldn't finish the fifty line he had served me with in one lunch hour. The one who accused me of stopping in the middle of writing them.
I'm sure I can think of other teachers who raise my bile, but those are the two that always spring to mind.
It does worry me that I carry so much anger over stuff that happened twenty years ago. I'm not angry at the boys that bullied me, even though it's more likely that they did more damage. I've sat down and talked to some of them.
No, the anger I carry is at the Authority figures that blocked me, misguided me, lied to me, made me miserable.
Anger is annoying. Ultimately there really isn't much positive use for anger, at least not my kind. The best thing you can do with it is go into some kind of Buddhist Let The Bad Karma Go Rise Above kind of thing.
And let's face it, that's just not as much fun as breaking something, or even just seething until you can feel the rage in the pit of your stomach burning a hole through your abdominal wall.
Nope, all that Anger really does is fill me full of tension and spite, until the sense of power fades away and simmers down to a sense of sadness at not being able to change the thing that made you angry in the first place.
I would love to track down the Maths Teacher I had in grade 12, the one who's dog attacked me, and scream at him about what a pathetic excuse for a teacher he is. And the Maths teacher I had before that in Grade 11, and before that in Grade 10, and before that in Grade 9, and I think I had the same teacher in Grade 8, so it would just be more screaming.
I would like to tell my IT teacher in grade 11 and 12 that not only were his classes unhelpful to my aspirations, they left a student who had previously been mad on Computer Technology and programming who dreamed of a career in the Games Industry so traumatised that I didn't want to touch a computer again for two years after school.
The same teacher was able to, in part at least, facilitate my youngest brother Angus' ascension to his current career. Maybe in the seven years between me and Gus the Fucker got it right.
But the thing that really makes me angry is this:
I left school over ten years ago. I'm no longer at the mercy of the soul-crushing teachers I had in the past.
Sure, I've had to deal with a string of bad relationships, a rough home-life, dealing with psychos on a near daily basis for 27 years, people never really understanding what I'm about and feeling like a square peg in a round hole whereever I go, but that's might just be background noise.
In truth the only thing that really holds me back now is me.
More fun tomorrow.
J
posted by the.exile at 6:21 pm
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